


annihilation

by Solovei



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Conversations, Introspection, Just two people talking about life really, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, feat. Julian's annihilation fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 04:56:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17860706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solovei/pseuds/Solovei
Summary: Julian ponders this for a minute. How many futures had he closed the door on with that one simple mistake? Or… had it been a choice?Not a choice, he finds himself thinking.A reflex.He laughs it off, because the thought it terrifying.“I suppose you’re right. In fact, if I had answered correctly, I probably would not even be here right now, having dinner with you!”





	annihilation

**Author's Note:**

> This is the weird brainchild of some headcanons I had and [this art](https://kaelio.tumblr.com/post/182024931416/pfft-whats-so-great-about-paris-anyway) by [kaelio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaelio/pseuds/kaelio)! You should go check out all her stuff because it is so good.

Julian looks at the exam on the screen in front of him. The last question. This is all that’s standing between him and graduation.

There is a timer in the corner counting down his allotted time, but he barely notices it. It might as well be a speck of dust. He doesn’t register the temperature of the room, the itch on his neck, or the awkward posture of his spine. It’s just him and the question.

He hasn’t experienced his kind of tunnel-vision concentration since he was very small, when they returned from Adigeon Prime and he found himself suddenly absorbed wholly into this or that subject for weeks at a time. It didn’t matter what it was - ancient history, physics, botanical chemistry. Everything narrowed until that thing became his whole world.

The question is almost laughably simple; a first-year medical student could label this diagram with her eyes closed. For a second he wonders if perhaps he missed a page, but no. This is definitely it, the very last question. 

Julian knows the right answer, of course, but he also knows what lies beyond that answer: a Starfleet rank, valedictorian honors, his choice of any posting in the Federation. Maybe a research grant. His name emblazoned on the front of important, widely-cited papers. Recognition, respect.

He can see all of this lining up in front of him in a straight, unyielding line, stretching far into the future.

 _His_ future? A future he can take to his parents and say, look what I made of myself. And they would be happy, because would finally receive the perfect son they wanted. And Julian would finally look back at his own shadow and say, this is why you had to die.

It’s within his grasp, now. All he has to do is … move his hand. All that’s needed is one electrical impulse from his brain to the muscles in his hand and wrist, travelling at 119 m/s to make his dreams a reality.

His hand hovers over the surface of the screen. 

Julian knows how much is riding on this answer, he can see the goal so clearly in front of him, and yet--

And yet. 

Julian watches his hand select the wrong option. He has no conscious awareness of having made that movement. He feels as though some force had taken over his body and made the choice for him, leaving him to observe the aftermath. 

He looks at the screen with a dumb-founded, crooked smile on his face. 

\---

“And, well, that’s basically the story.” Julian sums up, letting a nervous chuckle escape from his lips into the glass of kanar. Across from him on the sofa, Garak lets out a sigh as if he had just reached the conclusion of some thrilling tale. “Fascinating!” The Cardassian says, and Julian isn’t sure what to make of the sincerity in his voice. He feels his face flush, a heat rising to the surface of his skin. Perhaps it’s the drink, or the conversation they found themselves in, or the fact that Garak keeps his quarters two degrees warmer than the rest of the station (and still complains of the cold).

“Well, I don’t know if I would call it that… it’s quite boring, actually,” Julian offers up in refrain. 

Garak inches closer, the blue of his eyes more intense than usual. “But don’t you see? Sometimes it is exactly these, as you say, _boring_ events that change the whole course of our lives. By answering that one single question incorrectly, you altered your future in a myriad ways.” 

Julian ponders this for a minute. How many futures had he closed the door on with that one simple mistake? Or… had it been a choice? 

Not a choice, he finds himself thinking. _A reflex._

He laughs it off, because the thought is terrifying. “I suppose you’re right. In fact, if I had answered correctly, I probably would not even be here right now, having dinner with you!”

Garak takes a sip of his own drink, lips curling into a self-satisfied smile. “And where, my dear doctor, would you be instead?”

“Oh, I don’t know… Paris, probably? Running a hospital. Married to a ballerina who liked showing me off to her father, probably.” He explains, but the words feel strange in his mouth somehow. Not that long ago it would have been all he wanted, but now… he throws a quick glance at his dinner companion, watches as Garak swirls his glass around lazily in his grey scaled hand. What had it been that forced Julian’s hand all those years ago? He wonders if that same force had driven him here, to the frontier of space, into the arms of this man. 

“Forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, but you don’t seem particularly invested in that version of events.”

Julian tears his eyes away from Garak, back to the _kanar_ in his hand. He cracks a sort of half-hearted smile, and downs the rest of the drink remaining in the class. “Well, you know… sometimes the person you thought you were going to be isn’t the person you want to be ” 

Garak seems to shift slightly at those words; Julian can’t quite put it into his words, but something about his expression changes, becoming more distant in a subtle way.

As he sets the glass down onto the table, he turns to face Garak, and fixes him with a gaze. “Have you ever felt like that, Garak? Like you had to make a choice to alter the rest of your life?” 

“I’m not immune to regrets about my past, dear doctor,” comes the reply, cryptic as always. Julian isn’t sure why he expects anything else at this point. In a way, it’s reassuring. If he ever gets a straight answer out of Garak, he thinks he might not like it. 

Julian takes scaled had into his own. He leans forward, until he can smell the alcohol on Garak’s breath and his own. 

“Are they _all_ regrets?” 


End file.
